


Falter

by LazyWriterGirl



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cordelia Has Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Mention of Battle Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Things get political, and ptsd, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: Taken back to Ylisstol as a prisoner, Aversa is placed in the Cordelia's custody under the suggestion of Grandmaster Robin. Practically forced to care for the woman responsible for the deaths of her sisters and captain, Cordelia struggles to provide the rehabilitation that Robin believes possible.But yet.There's something strange about Aversa, the silhouette of a real, genuine person hidden beneath the facade of sly, sultry sorceress. In the aftermath of the war, surrounded by marriage and betrothal and the happiness that comes of a newfound peace, Cordelia finds a curiosity beginning to itch away at her. Who is Aversa, really? A cold-blooded, amoral killer, or something far more complex than that.And why, Naga help her, does she care?





	Falter

Perhaps it would have been better for her to entrust this task to a servant, but she hasn't the heart to do it. It could be dangerous for the servant in question; that's what she tells herself. What’s she told herself since they returned from Plegia. She doesn't know if that's the truth of the matter, or if a part of her thinks it would be cruel to cut someone off from familiar faces—surely even the face of a familiar enemy is better than that of a complete stranger. Less isolating.

Perhaps that's it. 

Except that she couldn't care less for being cruel, not when she's been made to do this. Made to harbour a monster in the home that had once been her haven. Especially now that she’s lost so much… it’s rather _ unfair _, really, except that she’s not the type to complain about unfairness when it’s aimed her way. She’s always been dependable. Reliable.

The thought is bitter, bile in the back of her throat. She chokes it down. It’s more difficult than she could have imagined it would be, but she does it all the same. Because that’s the sort of woman she is, as much as she hates it. As bitter as it makes her feel.

She raises her hand to knock, knowing that she won't get an answer. She knocks anyway. The tray balancing on her other hand wobbles a little as she moves. She repositions the tray. Waits.

No answer, of course. As expected. As is normal.

"Lunch," she says. There's nothing else to say, really, so she just says it again, accompanied by another knock. Absently, she lets her gaze drift to the clock hanging on the wall at the end of the hallway. Its steady ticking is the only sound to be heard, aside from the faint breathing noises she can hear on the other side of the door. The guest wing of her family home has been quiet since her mother's death. 

She's all that remains of _ this _ family, now, too.

Her heart drums in her ears. It isn't the time to think about things like this. It never _ is _ the time to think about things like this.

She raises her free hand to knock again, only for a smoky voice to call out, "yes, yes, come in." Imperious. As if she were a maid and not the lady of the house. She shakes her head to clear inhospitable thoughts from her mind, and enters. 

The curtains are open, and the woman who'd permitted her entry is seated at the window sill, as always. There's a book beside her, closed. That too is much the same.

"Shall I leave this on the desk for you?" She knows that she's going to end up doing so, anyway, but it doesn't hurt to ask. Perhaps today will be different.

The woman turns to look at her briefly shadows cast over her face by the angle of her seat and the hood up around her head. "I suppose." Perhaps not, then. The other woman's voice sounds impossibly bored, as if she can't believe this is even a question that needs to be asked.

No other words are exchanged between the two of them. She doesn't wait for a dismissal, only leaves, closing the door behind her.

"You've a visitor, milady," says one of her maids as she descends to the main floor. "The grandmaster!"

"Ah, right. Thank you," she says, patting down her blouse and trousers before making her way to the sitting room. It's not been more than a few days since last she visited the other woman, but the dictates of polite society must be observed, especially when it comes to the two of them. And besides, amongst the Shepherds there are only so many for whom either of them can claim genuine affection, though the camaraderie of war lingers even for those for whom she has little time.

The grandmaster looks up at her entry, dark brown eyes shining. "Ah, Cordelia, how are you?"

She leans down to kiss the other woman's cheek. Robin has lost weight again, despite all signs pointing to peace and despite her having already looked rather thin at Cordelia’s last visit. Overworking herself to please the malcontents among the clergy and council both, undoubtedly. "I've been well. You've not been eating enough, Grandmaster." She finds a chuckle somewhere in the hollow of her throat and sets it free. "Must I have a word with your wife about this?"

Granted, she probably shouldn't, but the tease is only half a threat. She'd rather have her friend alive and slightly at her wife's mercy than driven to her death by whatever foolishness it is that sees her working herself ragged. "You're doing a wonderful job, Robin, but you do need to take care of yourself as well."

Robin has the sense to blush and bow her head at the observation, and Cordelia has to suppress a smile. Some things don’t change so easily, at least. "Yes, well…just. So busy, you see," she says, mumbling through her words. "Please don't mention it to Emm. She's been so tired lately, focusing on her recovery…I _ am _ eating, though."

"Just not enough."

"No, not enough, I'll grant you that. Not for lack of food of course, but…well, you understand?" 

It's a statement, or at least it should be, but it doesn't sound like one. Still, she nods. She understands. "You're working yourself to the bone."

"I wish I could say the same about you.” The laughter that follows the words punctuates how false the statement is. “I probably can, despite your looking as well taken care of as ever, can't I?"

She finds another ghost of a laugh, somewhere in the blank spaces in her chest, and sets it free in a few breaths. "You know me well, Grandmaster."

"Aye, I like to think I do. We're good friends after all," says Robin, and there's something pleading in her voice. As if she questions it. As if she isn't sure.

"Of course we are," she replies, pouring as much honest feeling as she can into her words. She's too exhausted for it to sound more than just barely believable, but Robin understands. That's the only reason why she'd agreed when Robin first suggested using her house as a prison of sorts. Because Robin understands her, even if Cordelia still believes it was a mistake to confine the woman upstairs to her care.

It's because Robin _ trusts _ her.

"Might I go up to see her?"

"Of course. Forgive me if I do not join you, but I've…already been up twice today."

Robin nods and rises, and there's a shudder in her hip that worries Cordelia. The wound should have healed completely by now. It would have been, too, given Maribelle's determination, and the amount of time and skill and mana she'd poured into fixing their broken grandmaster.

Except that Robin is overdoing it again, and her body is punishing her for it.

The woman's steps are shaky, slower than the brisk pace that she'd employed before. Cordelia waits for her guest to exit the room before realizing that she should at least go upstairs with her. "Here, Robin," she says as she offers the other woman her arm.

The grandmaster doesn't make a joke as she thanks Cordelia, taking the offered support with a grateful smile, and it's that lack of levity that frightens her more than anything else. Robin is changing, warping under the pressure of the clergy; she's going to have to talk to Her Grace about it, whether Robin wants her to or not.

But first, to deal with this. She doesn't know why Robin feels that it's necessary for her to be so polite, to visit the prisoner so often. Still, it isn't for her to question, really, as Robin _ does _ outrank her both in the military and in society. And besides, she trusts Robin's judgement.

"Thank you, Cordelia."

"You're welcome. Shall I wait here?"

"No, no, I'll be fine coming down the stairs myself. I've disrupted your schedule enough with all of this."

"Never a disruption," she says. Besides, her schedule has been barren of late, her dreams of rebuilding the Ylissean Pegasus Knights tied up in so much red tape that it will be a miracle if she gets things off the ground before this first year of peace is up. And her mother, Naga bless her soul, had left everything about the estate in perfect order. "If you don't mind, though, I think I'll go out to train for a little while."

It's not necessarily the best hosting, but Robin is a close friend, not a stranger. There's never been a need to stand on ceremony, not since they returned from Plegia with Emmeryn, wounded, but alive, and tales of the Mad King's death. "Go ahead. I'll join you out there in a while, if _ you _ don't mind. It's been too long. Have to keep myself sharp somehow, I suppose."

There's something lurking in her eyes there, a quiet concern that Cordelia doesn't think has ever left her. Not since Emmeryn's abduction. Cordelia doesn't know if that guarded look will ever disappear, but she does remember a time before it. It feels like it was so very, very long ago.

She stops by her own room first, to slip out of her good blouse. The trousers are not her best, so it should be fine, even if Robin does decide she has it in her to spar later. Throwing on a sleeveless top that's seen better days, she stretches a little before heading out to the yard. The manor is familiar in a way that’s stamped into her soul, but since becoming the sole owner of the grounds she's made a few changes. The training grounds, of course, being the most necessary.

Donning light leather padding that somewhat imitates the feel of her own armour, she takes out two wooden swords and a practice lance from the shed. The lance is weighted to imitate the heft of steel, and as Cordelia begins to run through her basic movement drills she realizes that she's missed this. Her muscles relax as she works through each well-learned pose, each familiar stance. She hadn't even noticed how tense she'd been.

"Ha!" But _ why _ should she be stressed?

"Rrrrragh!" It isn't because of Robin.

"Hi-yah!" _ You know what it's about, Cordelia. _

And yes, perhaps she does, but that's over now; at least, for the next few hours. She won't have to feel so stressed out again until dinner.

She's nearing the end of her second hour when Robin calls out for her. When she turns, the other woman has slipped out of her armour and cloak, carrying the bundle in her arms. She looks even smaller than Cordelia had been expecting without the familiar bulk of silver pauldrons and dark, swirling fabric. Vulnerable and fragile, in a way that strikes Cordelia as _ wrong _ for the grandmaster of Ylisse. This isn’t the Robin she’s fought beside and bled for, no. This woman is a strange creature; one for which she cares, but doesn’t know.

"I know I said I wouldn't voice my concerns to Emmeryn, but Robin...are you sure you're well?"

The other woman bounces, shifting her weight from foot to foot with the same tricky, clever rhythm Cordelia has come to know. "Should be good to at least train for a little bit." She looks up, dark eyes almost daring Cordelia to challenge the non-answer, but in a way that remains entirely friendly. Almost like she wants Cordelia to say something, even though it’s clear that her health is the last thing Robin wants to be discussing.

It's better not to argue, as much as she wants to, so instead Cordelia bites her lip and says, "I've finished this set. We can go through some basic sword stances, next." Not that she's much use for a sword, but she'd found an old scroll amongst her father's things and there had been some teachings on it that she's been meaning to try.

Robin nods and makes a few small adjustments to her stance, still bouncing from foot to foot. She grimaces as a bad landing twists her hip in just the wrong way. "Definitely not up for a spar or anything quite yet, so that sounds perfect."

"Robin…" The other woman looks up, and Cordelia's voice dies in her throat. They both know they're avoiding things. Important things. "Here," she says instead of bringing any of that up. She tosses one of the light wooden swords to Robin, who catches it deftly in one hand. "What was that set you used to do all the time?"

Robin stops to think for a moment before guiding the wooden sword through a simple maneuver, the motion flowing into another, then another. Almost like dancing, except that Cordelia’s seen those same motions, sped up during the heat of battle, with live steel in Robin’s hands. "This one?"

"That's the one," she says, leaning back against the fence to watch Robin's progress. There's an intentional slowness of movement, each thrust and lunge deliberately timed to avoid undue pressure on Robin's hip. After watching Robin move through the full set a few times, she joins in, surprising the other woman. At Robin's raised eyebrow Cordelia only grins, and she has the pleasure of seeing her friend throw her head back and laugh mid-pose. It's the happiest she thinks she's seen Robin since the wedding.

As she works through the unfamiliar steps, she watches her friend closely, wondering if Robin will ever fight as she once had, or if her style will change for good. To accommodate her injury, if the healing schedule she's on doesn't yield the results they're all hoping for—a possibility that looms over their heads with a weight that none of them can bring themselves to bear. She closes her eyes before the possibility of negative thoughts can come, enjoying the breeze for a minute.

A soft grunt brings her back to the present, where Robin is on one knee in the dust of the training ring. The tip of her wooden sword gouges a slight hole in the earth beneath.

"Robin!"

"I'm fine," says the other woman. A blatant lie.

"I think you've had enough for today," she says. Her voice feels different in her throat. Gentler. Kinder. More like Cordelia the Shepherd and not Cordelia the Warden, though she isn't the latter in any formal sense of the word. Not really, at least.

Robin pushes herself up under Cordelia's watchful eye. "I think…yes, you're right." She sounds defeated as she hands the wooden sword back to Cordelia. "Sorry to disturb you, Cordy. I'll see myself out, okay?"

Had it not been for the pet name and the broken edges of Robin's voice, she would have insisted Robin let her see her out. Instead, however, she only offers a small smile as she and Robin kiss each other's cheeks, the wooden swords in her hands suddenly far too heavy. Robin takes a moment to gather up her cloak and armour, moving more slowly than she had before. Cordelia almost winces as she watches, but she manages to keep the smile on her face until Robin walks away. Then, she is alone, the sweep-trudge-limp of Robin's tired gait nothing but a memory in mere minutes.

Dropping the swords over the other side of the fence, Cordelia returns to her lance drills. The more tired she is, the easier it will be to keep calm when she has to go back upstairs. 

  
  


Sparring with shadows keeps her so occupied that by the time one of her maids calls her in, she's dripping in sweat and well-satisfied that she's done enough for the day.

  
  


In the few minutes it takes for her to clean up and change into fresh clothes, the anxiety she's been keeping at bay nearly overcomes her. A wave of panic washes over the veneer of calm she tries to keep in place, sweeping aside everything, even her exhaustion. Until she's filled with panic alone. She groans, hands fastened to either side of the washbasin in front of her. It has been some months yet, and still, this ridiculous, nigh inescapable fear insists on pestering her. She's disgusted that she should feel such fear.

And of _ what _?

A single woman; a prisoner. Unarmed. Defeated, with a sharp tongue the only weapon in her arsenal aside from her defiant, dangerous nature.

"Please make up a tray. I'll take it upstairs before I eat," she says, addressing the maid who knocks on the bathing room door only mere seconds after the thoughts dissipate.

"Please, Lady Cordelia, allow one of us to do that. You should relax," says the other woman through the door, sounding far younger than Cordelia believes any of her maids to be.

She opens the door and forces a smile, shaking her head. "No, no. She's my responsibility. Not anyone else's." Not amongst her staff, anyway. "A tray, please."

The maid blushes and curtsies, bidding her to wait at the foot of the stairs. It should only be a few minutes. Cordelia agrees easily; anything to put her in a position where she might get this over with as quickly as possible. She amuses herself with the swirling patterns in the wooden rails lining the staircase; her father had had the house restored only a few years earlier, before his death, and the craftsmanship remained superb. _ At least Mother had enjoyed it for a while. _ She frowns. It isn’t the time.

"Here you are, milady," says the maid as she hands off a tray laden down with food.

"Thank you," she says, already turning away before she remembers to turn back to add, "I'll be down shortly." She doesn't watch the maid's curtsy, eyes already moving up the stairs along with the rest of her.

The hallway feels less stifling for some reason that she can't be bothered to reflect on at this particular moment, and she only knocks once before being bid to enter. "My, my, is it time for dinner already?"

"Here," she says, leaving the tray on the desk. Robin must have taken down the other one earlier. "Ring the bell if you need anything."

"You've said that every night for months now, and little else."

She doesn't feel as repulsed as she usually does, though the idea of the conversation moving past anything more than basic civility still sets her ill at ease. She turns to look at the woman seated by the window sill, fighting to keep her internal disgust from her face.

"That's perhaps the most unpleasant expression I've ever seen on your lovely face," says the other woman. "Oh come now, Cordelia, won't you spend some time speaking with me?"

"I have nothing to say to you, Aversa." Nothing polite, at any rate, or even halfway to decent.

She leaves with the sound of the sorceress's dark laughter in her ears. The sound that haunts her through her meal, and stalks her to her own chambers as she prepares to lay down for the evening. 

As she lies awake that night, Cordelia wonders why she cannot sleep, and a question comes to mind, unbidden. She may not be a warden true, but do others feel as she does?

Haunted by the laughter of the ones under their mercy?

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me living in rarepair hell. Please feel free to drop in on me [ on Tumblr ](https://lazywritergirl.tumblr.com) or [ Tweet me! ](https://twitter.com/LWGKay)
> 
> I'm trying to be more active and would love to get to know some fellow authors/people who read my fic!


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